I have no idea how to be sexy and the only time I’m remotely attractive is when I come home from the hairdresser with “sassy hair” (which immediately gives me an attitude and forces me to call everyone a beotch…even my husband).
Not only do I not know how to flirt, I don’t understand when someone flirts with me. It just doesn’t take. I’m actually pretty sure no one flirts with me except for maybe the homeless men I deal with, but I’m confident they don’t want to get into my pants for anything more than the Fiber One bar I’m stashing there. (Think again boys. I’m not that easy.)
Flirting never crosses my mind. I don’t think it ever did. I have no idea how I managed to snag my husband, but flirting wasn’t involved at all…just low cut shirts. I’m lucky he’s a boob guy.
So today when I was driving back from an out of town obligation, I didn’t think twice when a guy in his thirties drove past me, turned his neck back and waved profusely. I couldn’t see much of his face, but what I saw I didn’t recognize.
I had to take a moment to consider whether he was waving at me to say hello, or perhaps waving with a few less digits and telling me to f-off. (It was a valid concern. I’ve got a lead foot. Seriously. It’s lead. It has a plate in it.)
We continued driving on the highway, and I moved over to the fast lane to pass him (homeboy obviously didn’t have cruise control). As I passed him I looked over at him and once again, he smiled and waved ferociously at me. What? Who is this guy? Is he trying to tell me something? Is my tire flat? Is Timmy trapped in the well?
As I passed him, I realized that I totally knew who he was. I’m an idiot! Of course! It was a guy I hadn’t seen in a while, and that’s why it took me so long to recognize him. Well didn’t I feel like a horse’s ass? (But not Columbus’s ass, because that horse is awesome…and tiny). I decided to make up for my rudeness by pulling back and letting him pass me again so I could look at him and wave hello. My brilliant tactic worked and I saw him approaching. (Duh, it was a brilliant plan.)
Shortly after slowing down, he pulled up next to me. Just as he did so I pointed at him, smiled, and then waved at him in an exaggerated way, my flabby arms flailing in the wind. And in that split second after I waved and pointed, I realized it wasn’t who I thought it was.
It wasn’t anyone I knew. It was a perfect stranger I was pointing and waving at and he was totally digging it. Oops. Oh well, I figured if anything else, I waved to a guy and perhaps brightened his day.
Apparently I not only brightened his day, I turned the flood lights on it and shone them directly into his car. Desperate Driver got overly excited with my frantic wave and smile and returned it with a wave and a blown kiss. Yes, he actually blew a kiss…as an adult man…to another adult…while operating a car.
I considered pretending to catch it and then throw it out the window, but Desperate Driver seemed like that might send him and his Jetta over the edge, so I refrained. Rather, I sped up to get away from him (and the kisses he blew. I didn’t know him like that).
Just when I thought I was out of his sight, he sped up once again and drove up next to me. I’m not sure what the proper etiquitte for car flirting is, but I got the feeling he wanted me to show some side boob. I knew that wasn’t something I was interested in doing (at least not intentionally), so I held up my left hand as he drove past in the hopes that my wedding ring would throw him off the trail.
If anything, this tactic made him want me more. I was forbidden fruit…only the good kind. Not the moldy stuff in the fridge that you refuse to throw out for some reason. My bling made him want me even more. I was completely trapped. I wanted to pull off at the next exit, collect myself (and refresh my Diet Coke), but I knew I couldn’t take an exit because he would think I was inviting him to do the nasty in a Walmart parking lot.
I had to think quickly about my options, as Desperate Driver would be back for more and I had to be ready for him. I formulated a plan. It wasn’t a McGyver plan (only because I didn’t have dental floss, a tampon string and a book of matches, otherwise, it would have totally been McGyver style).
Instead, I decided to drive really slow so he would eventually get sick of driving near me, speed up, and drive away. I knew Desperate Driver wanted to fly down the highway at 78 miles per hour and didn’t want to be held back by a blonde going the speed limit.
Fortunately it worked, although there were moments that driving the speed limit actually tested my sanity and I considered speeding up, knowing it would result in more flirting with DD. However, I stayed strong and eventually he got sick of driving slow, sped up, blew me one last fleeting kiss and drove out of my life forever.
I woud like to say I was sad to see him go, but I wasn’t. His waves and kisses made me feel dirty and cheap, and I’m better than that. If he really wanted to woo me, he would have had me pull over at the local truck stop and ordered me buscuits and gravy. Now that’s the kind of flirting I could get on board with. I guess that’s why me and Desperate Driver are never meant to be.